by Jean Plaidy
‘You are charming,’ she said, ‘but I am committed.’
‘Richard Ford is not your husband.’
‘We shall marry in due course and two of my children are his.’
‘We could have children, you and I.’
She shook her head. ‘I shall never forget the honour you have done me, but I consider myself married to Mr Ford and as you have said: I am faithful.’
‘I shall never stop loving you,’ he assured her. ‘And I shall not give up hope. Will you have supper with me tonight?’
‘I must say no,’ she said with a smile, ‘for I must go home to my family.’
William called at Carlton House and George received him in the library with his windows looking out on to the gardens.
‘What a lovely place you have here, George!’ cried William, throwing himself into a chair and gazing disconsolately out at the gardens.
‘It didn’t grow of itself,’ the Prince reminded him. ‘It has taken me quite a time, the advice of architects and the skill of artists, but I flatter myself I now have a worthy dwelling here and at Brighton. You haven’t been to the Pavilion lately, William. You must come. How is Clarence Lodge progressing?’
‘Very well, but I did not come to talk about houses, George.’
‘No? Then what?’
‘Women. Or rather a woman.’
‘Mrs Dorothy Jordan.’
‘How did you know?’
The Prince laughed. ‘My dear William, didn’t you realize that we are watched by a thousand eyes; we are listened to by a thousand ears and a thousand pens a day are taken up to ridicule or libel us in some way. I have been reading snippets concerning a certain exalted young gentleman and Little Pickle. I couldn’t help knowing to whom that referred. So you took my advice and went to Drury Lane and there you saw the delectable Mrs Jordan.’
‘You think she is charming?’ William smiled beatifically.
‘I think she is utterly delightful.’
‘I always said there wasn’t a man in England with better taste than you.’
‘I am inclined to agree with you. And I will say this, that if I were not so entirely and absolutely committed to my dearest love, my Maria, I would be your rival.’
‘Oh, don’t say that. I should be terrified. She would never be able to resist you as…’
‘As she is resisting you?’
William nodded wretchedly. ‘That’s what I wanted to see you about. I want your advice. You see, George, she is a wonderful woman. She considers herself married to this man Ford. And there are children. Two of his and one of Daly’s – some theatrical brute who forced his attentions on her. You see I have learned all about her. And because she considers herself married to Ford she is faithful to the fellow.’
‘What sort of fellow?’
‘A barrister of a sort… not very successful. Dorothy keeps the home going with her salary, so I hear.’
‘She is a good woman,’ said the Prince, ‘and believe me, there is nothing so important to a man – and to Princes like ourselves – as a good woman. If I could have married Maria openly I should have been the happiest man on Earth.’
‘But are you absolutely faithful to Maria?’
‘That is not the point. I would never leave Maria. She knows that. I should always go back to her and although I might stray now and then – for as you know I find it very hard to resist a pretty woman and there are so many of them and all so charming in their different ways – it is Maria whom I regard as my wife. I could not live without Maria nor she without me.’
‘That is how I feel about Dorothy, but I should always be faithful to her.’
‘But then you see, my dear William, I am a married man of some standing whereas you are about to be married. That is the difference in our points of view.’
‘About to be married?’
‘Well, in a manner of speaking.’
‘George, she refuses me. Every time she tells me that she will be faithful to Ford.’
The Prince smiled reminiscently. ‘Maria would not consent for a whole year… and more. She went away… abroad… and I was faithful to her. I wrote the most heartrending letters.’
‘I haven’t your power with the pen.’
‘Nor do you need to have because she is here.’
‘But I can get no further with her.’
‘I had to attempt suicide for Maria.’
‘Do you think I should for Dorothy?’
‘Not at this stage. But don’t give up. Try to think what would appeal to her and you will win in the end. You have your royalty, and royalty is an asset which few women can resist. In addition you are young, tolerably handsome; you are not without charm; and I am sure you could please the lady more than this… what’s his name?’
‘Richard Ford.’
‘More than he does. Persistence is your line. Never give up. Now, since I knew of your interest in the lady I have been considering her and I have found many little items in the gossip columns about her. Actors and actresses are considered fair game for gossip – just as we are. I have gathered that there are often stormy scenes between Mrs Jordan and Mr Ford. I cannot believe he can offer as much as you can.’
‘But she is not to be bought.’
‘Everyone is to be bought by one thing or another. It may be love; it may be money; it may be fame. But there will be something. She has children. She is a good mother. Now if I were in your place… But then I am not. Through my tribulations I have come to happiness with my Maria and our circumstances were different from yours.’
‘George, you were saying… if you were in my place.’
‘If I were in your place I should ask myself where she was most vulnerable. It is through her children. It is because she is anxious for the welfare of her children that she clings to Richard Ford. They are his; he accepts them as his. Perhaps this is the reason. Suppose you were to agree to shoulder those financial burdens. Suppose there was some agreement… a real agreement drawn up by lawyers say… in which you undertook to provide for the children.’
‘Could I do that, George?’
‘Why not?’
‘But I should need money.’
‘Money!’ said the Prince of Wales, wrinkling his charming nose in the manner which was famous. ‘My dear William, Princes do not concern themselves with money.’
‘You and Fred are in debt to thousands, I know. I couldn’t be.’
‘Why should you? Just by providing for these children? My dear William, you are the King’s son. My brother. I think you forget that at times.’
‘Perhaps I do. It was all those years at sea when I was treated like a common sailor.’
‘How revolting!’ said the Prince with another wrinkle. ‘But don’t worry about money. It always comes from somewhere. Continue to see her. Let her know that you are sympathetic, that you love children, that you are concerned for hers. Win her confidence and let her see that all Richard Ford can do for her you can do – for it seems that he does not marry her.’
‘I think you are right, George. I knew you would be. How can I thank you.’
The ever-ready tears filled George’s eyes. He regarded his brother with affection.
‘There is one way you can thank me – by winning the delightful lady and being happy with her.’
Dorothy and Hester had put the children to bed. It was one of Dorothy’s free nights.
‘What are you playing tomorrow?’ Hester asked.
‘Beatrice in The Panel.’
‘I suppose he will be there.’
‘You mean the Duke of Clarence?’
‘Whom else?’ asked Hester.
‘He is always there when I play.’
‘You speak with some complacence.’
‘Well, it is not a matter for congratulation when the King’s son comes to the theatre every time one appears.’
‘I wonder where it is going to end.’
‘He will grow tired.’
Dorothy had seated herself i
n an arm-chair and Hester had taken the stool at her feet. It was a position they had occupied in those long ago days in Leeds when the whole family had looked to Dorothy’s skill – as they still did. But in those days it had had to be proved; now it was.
‘You will be sorry when he does.’ Dorothy hesitated and Hester added quickly: ‘You are growing fond of him.’
‘He is charming and he never shows anger because I continually flout him. He always tries to please me… far more than Richard ever did.’
‘Has Richard said anything?’
‘About marriage?’ Dorothy’s lips curled. ‘He has not changed his mind if that is what you mean.’
‘The Duke could not marry you.’
Dorothy laughed aloud. ‘Here I am between the two of them. One who swears he would if he could and one who could if he would. A fine state of affairs, Hester. And I think of the girls. What will happen when it is time for them to marry? Oh, Richard is cruel. After all, they are his children.’
‘All but Fan.’
‘And Fan… what will become of her? I worry about them, Hester. I know how Mamma felt about us. She longed for marriage and it was denied her. How odd that my position should be so like hers. She wanted marriage for me so much; and in the same way I want it for the girls. It will be a great hindrance to them if they cannot have their father’s name. Look at me: Mrs Jordan. A name given to me by Wilkinson! A name to which I have no legal right! I don’t want that for the girls. Surely Richard must understand this.’
‘He does and I am sure he would marry you if…’
‘If he were not afraid of his father! What sort of a man is he?’
‘What does he say about the Duke’s attention?’
‘Nothing. Precisely nothing.’
‘Perhaps it will force him to some action.’
‘I find the situation quite humiliating. I might…’
Hester was alert, but Dorothy did not go on.
Hester could not help visualizing what changes might be in store for the household.
Dorothy’s brother, George, called at Somerset Street with Maria Romanzini. George was doing fairly well and had had one or two minor parts; he was now a qualified actor but without pretensions to greatness, while Maria Romanzini’s fine singing voice was her great asset and made up for her somewhat squat figure and unfashionable swarthiness.
Dorothy guessed what they had come to say as soon as she saw them and she could not suppress a pang of envy although she was pleased for George’s sake.
‘Dorothy,’ said George solemnly, ‘we have come to tell you something.’
Hester laughed and said, ‘I don’t think you need to, George.’
‘So you’ve guessed,’ cried Maria, opening her great dark eyes which with her plentiful rippling black hair was her only beauty.
‘It’s written all over your faces,’ Dorothy told them. ‘So you decided to marry at last.’
‘At last!’ cried George. ‘It hasn’t been so very long.’
Dorothy kissed the bride and groom and told them that she wished them every happiness, and Hester brought out a bottle of wine so that they could drink the health of the newly married pair.
‘Neither of us is doing so badly now,’ said Maria almost apologetically, ‘so we thought that there was no sense in waiting.’
‘We want a family,’ added George.
‘Of course,’ agreed Dorothy. ‘It’s all very natural and God bless you both.’
They drank and talked excitedly of the future. George would not be playing small parts for ever; and Maria might go into opera. There was a growing popularity for opera, she believed. They would manage in any case.
They talked about parts and the theatre and how Drury Lane was doing better business than it had for years.
‘It’s your Pickle that brings them in, Dorothy,’ said George. ‘It must be wonderful to get on that stage and see that big audience and know that it has come to see you.’
Dorothy smiled. Yes, she thought, but there are more wonderful things. If Richard would marry her as George had married Maria that would give her more pleasure than all the full houses in the world.
Yet she was not in love with Richard any more. He had disappointed her. In the beginning she had felt as Maria and George so obviously did, but he had failed her. Solemnly he had promised. It was absurd to say that his father would object. He was not a boy any longer. They would do without his father’s money and approval.
Maria was looking at her with envy. Maria, who was a good actress, a fine singer, but who knew she would never rival the talents – some called it genius – of Dorothy Jordan. Dorothy was at the top of her profession; a royal Duke was in love with her; she was the mother of three children. And the one thing she wanted – respectable marriage, security for the girls – was denied her, and by the man who was supposed to love her and could so easily have given her what she wanted.
Her brother’s marriage had affected her deeply. It had made her consider the hopelessness of trusting Richard Ford.
The Duke was in her dressing room, humble, adoring as usual.
‘You are too kind,’ she said.
‘I want you to know that the only thing I ask in life is to be kind to you.’
‘I am grateful. How I wish that I could give what you ask.’
‘You do wish it?’ He was eager.
‘I could not help but be moved by such devotion.’
‘I shall go on waiting… and hoping. But I fear I weary you.’
He fancied he saw a faint alarm spring into her eyes. Did she think he was hinting that he was growing tired? Then although she would not give in she did not want him to give up trying. There was hope in that.
‘When I leave every night I think of you going home to your children. How I should love to be there! I am so fond of children. They are little girls, I know. Little girls are particularly charming, although I confess I should like a son.’
She told him of the children, of her anxieties over Frances, who was inclined to be wayward; she was less alarmed for Dodee and Lucy.
‘Dodee is named for you?’
She laughed. ‘We could not have two Dorothys in the family.’
‘I shall call you Dora,’ he said. ‘It shall be my name. You are Dorothy for the multitude of your admirers – you shall be Dora for this one.’
He told her about Petersham Lodge where he was now living. He should like to show it to her.
‘The gardens are splendid. Are you fond of gardens? I should like your advice about the flower-beds I am having planted. It’s large but not too large… and an ideal place for children to play in.’
What was he suggesting? That he would take her and the children?
‘One day,’ he said, ‘I hope to meet them. I hope to make them fond of me.’
‘So you really are fond of children?’
‘I adore them. I should like to have a large family and give them the happiness which I missed as a boy. We had a very strict upbringing, you know. Our father was a martinet. He believed in discipline and many were the canings we had to endure – particularly George, my eldest brother. He was so proud and so determined to have his own way. You will love him as I do – he’s the best fellow in the world.’
‘I doubt,’ she said, ‘that the Prince of Wales would be eager to… to… accept me.’
‘My dearest Dora, you are wrong. Absolutely wrong. I have talked to him of you. He thinks you are delightful. He longs to meet you. He bids me say that you would be very welcome in the family. He is interested too in your children. He says I should set your mind at rest concerning them…’
‘The Prince of Wales said that?’
‘Certainly he did. Did I not tell you he is the best brother in the world? Oh, my dear Dora, you have been reading these wicked scandals about him. Don’t believe them.’
‘I don’t need to be warned against the scandalmongers. I have suffered enough from them myself. But you say that the Prince of Wales…’
> ‘We discuss everything together and I have naturally spoken to him of what is the most important matter in my life. He says I should refuse to give in; that I should make you see that your children would lose nothing. He says that as you are a good woman this would be a matter of concern with you. He is right, is he not, my dear love?’
She was moved. He thought: George is right. Trust George. This is the way.
‘I am deeply moved by the Prince’s concern. I did not think… I did not know…’
He embraced her and for the first time she did not repulse him.
Oh, blessed George, who understood the ways of women as well as he did the cut of a coat and the arranging of a neck cloth!
She withdrew herself and said: ‘But I must go home now.’
He did not seek to detain her. The first battle was won – thanks to George, Prince of Wales.
‘George has married Maria Romanzini,’ said Dorothy sitting at her dressing table and combing her long beautiful hair.
‘I guessed he would,’ said Richard, yawning from his pillows.
‘He was determined that there should be no gossip about their relationship.’
‘Who would gossip about them?’
‘Certainly it would not be the same as it is about me.’
‘I’m tired,’ said Richard. ‘Come to bed.’
She stood up and threw the hairbrush on to the dressing table.
‘I’m tired too,’ she said, ‘tired of waiting for you to fulfil your promises.’
‘Oh, Dorothy, not tonight.’
‘Why not? Tonight is as good as any time. I want a plain answer. Are we to be married or not?’
‘Of course we are.’
‘When – on Judgement Day?’
‘In due course.’
‘The same thing,’ she said. ‘Listen, Richard, I have had enough. I want a plain answer to my question: Are you going to marry me or not?’
‘I will marry you as soon as I can conveniently do so.’
‘And what of the children – two of them illegitimate and all because you have failed to keep your promises.’
